Story Notes:
I honestly have no idea if this will be a truly finished series or not. This is how I write. Oh, and the idea for this came to me at, mmnnnm... 3:47 AM. Yes, I am most productive at night. Anyway, this is a tale between two "tragic lovers" or whatever with a huge twist at the end. I promise, this shouldn't exceed more than six chapters.
Valheim Is Such a Fool
Here in Eni-g'ste, there is a saying made by it's founder and his subordinates. It goes, "he who cherishes what he loves the least will gain the most, and he who cherishes what he loves the most will gain the least." I'm afraid I am, indeed, the man who will gain the least in the end... Dorothy is what I cherish the most. No, Dorothy is the only thing I cherish. I want her happiness no matter what, I really do... but as the saying goes, I will gain the least. As a post-war new age Pokemon scientist (a climatologist to be exact), and one of the first hailing from some place other than Del Aires, I have a duty to commit to. But the end I asked myself, "is this duty more important than Dorothy?" I got my answer. I, Valheim Cruttzin, am a huge fool.
*******
"Take me here again, Valheim," said Dorothy Cruttzin, her voice barely above a whisper, being carried along in the passing afternoon wind. What a terrible name for such a lovely being like her to have... Cruttzin. It sounded vile and repulsing.
"Yes, dear," Valheim repeated as though it were protocol, his amber eyes locked on something far off into the distance, though nothing but large mountains were the only thing to look back at him. The hill they were upon seemed to radiate with purity, as it was the place they'd first met, above the Village of Aloc. The lush and equally gorgeous trees flanking them stared at Valheim, as if expecting something more to come from the Feraligatr with the black business suit on. The reptile simply kept looking on. That's all he was, just a reptile. His lovely Dorothy... she was different. She was a Flaaffy, a purely pink sheep glowing with love for her husband. The dress-skirt she wore, the lavish yellow one, still looked wonderful on her, as it did only ten years ago. Valheim was terrible in every way.
"...Okay, then." Disappointment dribbled off of her voice as she sat on that swing-set, the wooden one. Her little paws clutched violently onto the supporting chains holding the seat above the ground, her sweet emerald gaze clouding over with something Valheim couldn't identify. Hate, perhaps, hate for such a terrible partner.
"I'm leaving. I'll be back in a month." As Valheim the terrible abomination said this, the wind picked up and blew his black fedora away, exposing his bulky blue head. Those eyes never blinked once, never moved, they just sat staring at the mountain range on the horizon and the village below their hill.
"To Del Aires, right?," asked Dorothy, her head swiveling backward, her green eyes meeting his. With the scowl that all Feraligatrs bore, his eyes slowly drifted downward to meet hers. Even though he was standing side-by-side to her, he still felt aloof. He felt wrong. He didn't belong with her anymore, he was certain.
"Yes. There is a presentation that would help bring revenue to our poor village." His eyes emanated coldness and distance, whilst hers radiated concern and that indescribable emotion. Her face, her tender face, it darkened and she abruptly stood off of the swing and stretched her little muscles, her white wool around her head crackling with energy and the orb upon her tail glowing faintly. It wasn't supposed to be like this, on such a happy day. The morning dawn offered bright blue skies and birdsong was literally everywhere and there were light breezes and the mountains stood coldly away from them. Practically everything today was meant to be romantic, or even just happy.
"I don't have a month," she reminded him, lunging for him and hugging him. Valheim moved backward, avoiding the hug and leaving her standing alone. Why? He didn't deserve hugs and her compassion anymore... he just couldn't forgive himself.
"I know, I gave it to you. The Pokerus." In a new test of his latest climatic invention, a machine that could control the types of Pokemon, his precious Dorothy was exposed to Delta-waves, layers of radiation that cause the worst type of Pokerus, the type that actually kills. The huge rusty contraption was soon discarded, and he was emotionally scarred forever. This conversation was going nowhere as he decided, and he began to simply walk away without another word.
"Valheim! I don't have a month! You know that-!!" The scream caught him off guard, and he turned his large head toward the smaller Pokemon, anger etched onto his face. His fist balled up and he considered striking her. Striking her and beating her until she just shut up and he could just go. She must've known what he was thinking, because she took a tentative step backward, an Electric-type attack at the ready. Obviously, he would lose.
"I know," was all he said, until he suddenly enveloped her in a hug. This sudden movement caused her to sent a slight jolt through his aging body, but Valheim no longer cared. All that was important was making sure she knew. Since he had to kneel to administer the hug, he stood up to his full eight feet, towering over her five. He shook his head, inclining his body away from her slightly, looking away, never making eye contact. "I don't belong with you. I don't belong here, with all my friends. I belong in Del Aires, where the wicked are rewarded. Eni-g'ste is just too good for me."
Dorothy said nothing as she looked down at the grass that touched her footpaws. No tears were present, even with her sad expression, and she simply put her paws behind her back. Valheim chuckled and began walking off, but she let him go this time without a word.
He stopped. He stopped, expecting her to say something, but she didn't. Sadness and anguish misted over Valheim the Feraligatr in a terrible blast of bad aura, his heart feeling like it had been dropped into an endless chasm. His nerves, his Pokemon instinct, told him to let his feelings out and just fall to his knees and weep. However, he couldn't let her see. If she said nothing, she was obviously over him. With less than two weeks to live, she couldn't find a new man to marry in time; she wanted to die alone. But still, he could question her about it, right? The plane didn't leave for about twenty minutes, and all he needed to do was cross a lake to the there. He knew Surf, so it would be no problem at all. He just stood there in all of his bulk, not moving, his eyes staring right through the world in front of him.
"Valheim loch Cruttzin, Baron of Honor at the WCC. That is the man I married." Oh, no. Not the 'you've changed so much' lecture. He'd read too many human books in which the female character makes it apparent that the male character has changed to an unlikable degree, and she is fed up. But he did care. He cared dearly for her, despite her faults. It wasn't her fault she was barren, it wasn't her fault her cousin was a hit-man. Nothing was her fault, it was all his... "You are the man I love and the same one I married. But I do not want to die by my lonesome. Please, Valheim... can't you cancel this flight for two weeks and just keep me company?"
"No," was his harsh answer as he sighed. To see his lover for fifteen years die in front of him... It was tragic. Too tragic. No man wants to be there. But what was worse? Having her die before his very eyes, or knowingly going away to avoid dealing with her death? Sadness washed over him once more, making his scales rise- a Feraligatr's form of goosebumps.
Dorothy, poor Dorothy, scoffed and just... threw her hands up and tried to conceal her tears. They had finally come, had they? Ho ho ho... The chuckle that escaped Valheim's lips grew into a full-blown laugh. His amber eyes turned around to comfort her, but she was gone. Just, gone. A single tear built up in his own eye, and it reminded him of the picture. The picture he, the Baron, took with his wife at the WCC after her diagnosis. He cried. Tears were pouring down his chiseled cheeks as the flash went off, and he still had it with him, that picture. The glory that was their relationship was now dead, he knew, but in his heart... no, in his self-denial she would always be alive. She was his reason to live, and without her, he couldn't function. So even if she was dead, he had that picture. If he needed dinner? He'd cook with her, the Dorothy in the picture. If he needed to talk with her after work, he'd talk to her again. If he wanted to cuddle, he'd cuddle with her. If he needed sexual release, they'd be together once more. No matter what need his body and his mind ached for, she would supply it.
Thinking those lovely thoughts of her scent, the aromatic scent she wore, he made his way south, toward the Wisdom Lake.
************
Dorothy slammed the door to their house, the soft light of the bright day streaming in through the glass window she was so used to. She slammed her fist on the wooden table in the dining room that was also their living room, her tears long-since dried up. She snatched a wooden chair, finely decorated with the lovely craft of Aloc, and drew it over to the window. She then sat in it, her paws drawn over her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. She looked like a truly refined female one would find in a painting. Her viridescent eyes searched the small yard outside of their house for Valheim, just waiting. She wouldn't eat, sleep, or drink until he came back. He was a distant jerk, but she still loved him as her partner. Poor Valheim, always blaming himself for everything...
A mist had begun to collect outside roughly an hour after their rather quiet argument, but still she sat. She knew, she simply knew, that her man was coming back before she would die. A flaring in her chest caused her to break her posture, her head leaning forward and her paw cupping over her mouth as a series of coughs racked her frail body. Thankfully blood, or worse yet that strange yellow fluid didn't come out this time... but she could feel her intestines warping again. Shifting around in her stomach. Soon, she began to drift into a nostalgic trance...
Valheim was so wonderful when he was young, wasn't he? The same window she stared out of, she could see them both playing in the yard just beyond the glass. His face looked so happy, he didn't mind how big it was and his lethal rows of teeth. The same chair she sat in was the one he always used when eating dinner. He could eat a Wailord on a bad night, couldn't he? Sadness from her memories shook her body worse than the cough did and tears fell out of her eyes, staining her chin and dress. Ever since the incident- the one she'd hoped to forget- he had become detached. She would do anything to bring him back. To snap him out of that trance of self-loathing he was in. She loved him, from his silky, scaly, bulky, stocky body shape to his intelligent, mild-mannered, own-tempo personality.
Dorothy continued to hopelessly stare out of that window, those dreadful olive eyes scanning the misty yard only unreachable by the glass for Valheim.
***********
What a fool I was for thinking I would be okay. For just letting her leave like that. Fifteen years we have been together, but after the incident, I'm starting to believe what I was seeing was not my Dorothy but instead an apparition of herself. As if all this time, she had already died and I was fooling myself into believing that I had still been living with my wife. She was too sweet to be a ghost, though. No... my eyes tell the truth. What I am seeing is my wife.
"It is not the will of a single Pokemon that makes up that being, but instead the will of the others around it. If there is no surrounding oxygen to support a wildfire, it will diminish into merely a candle-light."
*******
"Take me here again, Valheim," said Dorothy Cruttzin, her voice barely above a whisper, being carried along in the passing afternoon wind. What a terrible name for such a lovely being like her to have... Cruttzin. It sounded vile and repulsing.
"Yes, dear," Valheim repeated as though it were protocol, his amber eyes locked on something far off into the distance, though nothing but large mountains were the only thing to look back at him. The hill they were upon seemed to radiate with purity, as it was the place they'd first met, above the Village of Aloc. The lush and equally gorgeous trees flanking them stared at Valheim, as if expecting something more to come from the Feraligatr with the black business suit on. The reptile simply kept looking on. That's all he was, just a reptile. His lovely Dorothy... she was different. She was a Flaaffy, a purely pink sheep glowing with love for her husband. The dress-skirt she wore, the lavish yellow one, still looked wonderful on her, as it did only ten years ago. Valheim was terrible in every way.
"...Okay, then." Disappointment dribbled off of her voice as she sat on that swing-set, the wooden one. Her little paws clutched violently onto the supporting chains holding the seat above the ground, her sweet emerald gaze clouding over with something Valheim couldn't identify. Hate, perhaps, hate for such a terrible partner.
"I'm leaving. I'll be back in a month." As Valheim the terrible abomination said this, the wind picked up and blew his black fedora away, exposing his bulky blue head. Those eyes never blinked once, never moved, they just sat staring at the mountain range on the horizon and the village below their hill.
"To Del Aires, right?," asked Dorothy, her head swiveling backward, her green eyes meeting his. With the scowl that all Feraligatrs bore, his eyes slowly drifted downward to meet hers. Even though he was standing side-by-side to her, he still felt aloof. He felt wrong. He didn't belong with her anymore, he was certain.
"Yes. There is a presentation that would help bring revenue to our poor village." His eyes emanated coldness and distance, whilst hers radiated concern and that indescribable emotion. Her face, her tender face, it darkened and she abruptly stood off of the swing and stretched her little muscles, her white wool around her head crackling with energy and the orb upon her tail glowing faintly. It wasn't supposed to be like this, on such a happy day. The morning dawn offered bright blue skies and birdsong was literally everywhere and there were light breezes and the mountains stood coldly away from them. Practically everything today was meant to be romantic, or even just happy.
"I don't have a month," she reminded him, lunging for him and hugging him. Valheim moved backward, avoiding the hug and leaving her standing alone. Why? He didn't deserve hugs and her compassion anymore... he just couldn't forgive himself.
"I know, I gave it to you. The Pokerus." In a new test of his latest climatic invention, a machine that could control the types of Pokemon, his precious Dorothy was exposed to Delta-waves, layers of radiation that cause the worst type of Pokerus, the type that actually kills. The huge rusty contraption was soon discarded, and he was emotionally scarred forever. This conversation was going nowhere as he decided, and he began to simply walk away without another word.
"Valheim! I don't have a month! You know that-!!" The scream caught him off guard, and he turned his large head toward the smaller Pokemon, anger etched onto his face. His fist balled up and he considered striking her. Striking her and beating her until she just shut up and he could just go. She must've known what he was thinking, because she took a tentative step backward, an Electric-type attack at the ready. Obviously, he would lose.
"I know," was all he said, until he suddenly enveloped her in a hug. This sudden movement caused her to sent a slight jolt through his aging body, but Valheim no longer cared. All that was important was making sure she knew. Since he had to kneel to administer the hug, he stood up to his full eight feet, towering over her five. He shook his head, inclining his body away from her slightly, looking away, never making eye contact. "I don't belong with you. I don't belong here, with all my friends. I belong in Del Aires, where the wicked are rewarded. Eni-g'ste is just too good for me."
Dorothy said nothing as she looked down at the grass that touched her footpaws. No tears were present, even with her sad expression, and she simply put her paws behind her back. Valheim chuckled and began walking off, but she let him go this time without a word.
He stopped. He stopped, expecting her to say something, but she didn't. Sadness and anguish misted over Valheim the Feraligatr in a terrible blast of bad aura, his heart feeling like it had been dropped into an endless chasm. His nerves, his Pokemon instinct, told him to let his feelings out and just fall to his knees and weep. However, he couldn't let her see. If she said nothing, she was obviously over him. With less than two weeks to live, she couldn't find a new man to marry in time; she wanted to die alone. But still, he could question her about it, right? The plane didn't leave for about twenty minutes, and all he needed to do was cross a lake to the there. He knew Surf, so it would be no problem at all. He just stood there in all of his bulk, not moving, his eyes staring right through the world in front of him.
"Valheim loch Cruttzin, Baron of Honor at the WCC. That is the man I married." Oh, no. Not the 'you've changed so much' lecture. He'd read too many human books in which the female character makes it apparent that the male character has changed to an unlikable degree, and she is fed up. But he did care. He cared dearly for her, despite her faults. It wasn't her fault she was barren, it wasn't her fault her cousin was a hit-man. Nothing was her fault, it was all his... "You are the man I love and the same one I married. But I do not want to die by my lonesome. Please, Valheim... can't you cancel this flight for two weeks and just keep me company?"
"No," was his harsh answer as he sighed. To see his lover for fifteen years die in front of him... It was tragic. Too tragic. No man wants to be there. But what was worse? Having her die before his very eyes, or knowingly going away to avoid dealing with her death? Sadness washed over him once more, making his scales rise- a Feraligatr's form of goosebumps.
Dorothy, poor Dorothy, scoffed and just... threw her hands up and tried to conceal her tears. They had finally come, had they? Ho ho ho... The chuckle that escaped Valheim's lips grew into a full-blown laugh. His amber eyes turned around to comfort her, but she was gone. Just, gone. A single tear built up in his own eye, and it reminded him of the picture. The picture he, the Baron, took with his wife at the WCC after her diagnosis. He cried. Tears were pouring down his chiseled cheeks as the flash went off, and he still had it with him, that picture. The glory that was their relationship was now dead, he knew, but in his heart... no, in his self-denial she would always be alive. She was his reason to live, and without her, he couldn't function. So even if she was dead, he had that picture. If he needed dinner? He'd cook with her, the Dorothy in the picture. If he needed to talk with her after work, he'd talk to her again. If he wanted to cuddle, he'd cuddle with her. If he needed sexual release, they'd be together once more. No matter what need his body and his mind ached for, she would supply it.
Thinking those lovely thoughts of her scent, the aromatic scent she wore, he made his way south, toward the Wisdom Lake.
************
Dorothy slammed the door to their house, the soft light of the bright day streaming in through the glass window she was so used to. She slammed her fist on the wooden table in the dining room that was also their living room, her tears long-since dried up. She snatched a wooden chair, finely decorated with the lovely craft of Aloc, and drew it over to the window. She then sat in it, her paws drawn over her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. She looked like a truly refined female one would find in a painting. Her viridescent eyes searched the small yard outside of their house for Valheim, just waiting. She wouldn't eat, sleep, or drink until he came back. He was a distant jerk, but she still loved him as her partner. Poor Valheim, always blaming himself for everything...
A mist had begun to collect outside roughly an hour after their rather quiet argument, but still she sat. She knew, she simply knew, that her man was coming back before she would die. A flaring in her chest caused her to break her posture, her head leaning forward and her paw cupping over her mouth as a series of coughs racked her frail body. Thankfully blood, or worse yet that strange yellow fluid didn't come out this time... but she could feel her intestines warping again. Shifting around in her stomach. Soon, she began to drift into a nostalgic trance...
Valheim was so wonderful when he was young, wasn't he? The same window she stared out of, she could see them both playing in the yard just beyond the glass. His face looked so happy, he didn't mind how big it was and his lethal rows of teeth. The same chair she sat in was the one he always used when eating dinner. He could eat a Wailord on a bad night, couldn't he? Sadness from her memories shook her body worse than the cough did and tears fell out of her eyes, staining her chin and dress. Ever since the incident- the one she'd hoped to forget- he had become detached. She would do anything to bring him back. To snap him out of that trance of self-loathing he was in. She loved him, from his silky, scaly, bulky, stocky body shape to his intelligent, mild-mannered, own-tempo personality.
Dorothy continued to hopelessly stare out of that window, those dreadful olive eyes scanning the misty yard only unreachable by the glass for Valheim.
***********
What a fool I was for thinking I would be okay. For just letting her leave like that. Fifteen years we have been together, but after the incident, I'm starting to believe what I was seeing was not my Dorothy but instead an apparition of herself. As if all this time, she had already died and I was fooling myself into believing that I had still been living with my wife. She was too sweet to be a ghost, though. No... my eyes tell the truth. What I am seeing is my wife.
"It is not the will of a single Pokemon that makes up that being, but instead the will of the others around it. If there is no surrounding oxygen to support a wildfire, it will diminish into merely a candle-light."
Chapter End Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended, and is applicable for all consecutive chapters that follow.